The Woman he Loved
by AttoliaxKonoha06
Summary: Is Grelle really nothing more than a cold-hearted killer? Undertaker finds out the answer after Madame Red's funeral.
1. Funerals Are Not The Grandest Things

**Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji belongs to Yana Toboso. I own nothing. **

After the funeral, only a pale man stayed behind, watching the sun set on the tombstones through thick, grey bangs. The biggest celebration in a grand lady's life had been thrown today, marking the death of a brilliant doctor, a grief-stricken serial killer, and above all, a beloved woman.

'_Beloved by more than her nephew, it seems,' _the coffin-man thought as he silently watched a tall, wild-haired man approach the grave of the newly-interred.

Undertaker's gaze then turned to a tree near the gate, attracted by a sudden movement. He watched as Will shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Even with the fading light, Undertaker could tell Will was looking pointedly at anything other than Grelle, standing near the tomb of the woman who had helped him paint the city in such a sick and lovely shade of crimson.

Will looked up and met the retired shinigami's gaze. Undertaker broke the contact and looked back towards Grelle, who had put a glove-clad hand on the top of the sarcophagus and was staring at it, lost in thought.

As Grelle stared, he remembered what he had seen in the red woman's memory play. He had realized that his partner in crime had been infinitely more complex than he had previously thought. Grelle had always been too busy enjoying the bloodshed that his human companion caused to wonder _why _she decided to cause it. He hadn't realized she was in so much pain.

Silent tears fell while he remembered the sound of tearing flesh and shattering bones as the modified death scythe tore through her ribcage. He painfully remembered sitting on a nearby rooftop, watching Ciel walk into the funeral with a bright vermillion dress. Grelle thought she would've loved that dress. He had also thought about wanting to hug the Phantomhive boy and tell him how much he had regretted what he had done, thought he knew it would never make up for taking away yet another piece of the orphaned boy's family.

The guilt blazed into his unbeating heart and he balled his hands into fists. He closed his eyes to the pain, knowing he would always remember the hate Ciel now bore him. He didn't blame the boy; he hated himself as well.

Undertaker watched the agonized look on the feminine reaper's face and his heart clenched in sympathy. He knew that death was always tragic; he was a death god and a funeral director, after all, and had seen many family's weep and wail over lost loved-ones, but this was by far the most tragic, perhaps more so than the Phantomhive fire. The tragedy being that Grelle could not die himself because he was a reaper as well, and he would somehow have to live with the guilt of killing the woman he loved for eternity. Death would never be his escape, never set him free from the pain.

The shinigami of legend wondered why Will had even bothered to come; he clearly wasn't there for moral support, and he didn't even know Angelina. A flash called the coffin-man out of his thoughts, and he glimpsed the last rays of sunlight glint and reflect off of something in Grelle's hands. Grelle was holding the chainsaw he had so often used as a paintbrush when his artistic side decided that woman like Mary Kelly and Annie Chapman needed to be coated in the red of their own blood. Will must've come to make sure Grelle didn't use the scythe on anyone, clearly not understanding that Grelle was in no mood to kill anybody, except perhaps for himself.

The scarlet man leaned the saw against the tomb and turned around, proceeding to walk back towards the tree where his boss stood. He joined up with Will and they headed towards the gates of the cemetery. Undertaker followed them; deciding Grelle would need a friend tonight to comfort him that he most certainly would not find in the ever-stoic Will.

Maybe funerals were not the grandest things after all.

A/N:

Written for my bestest buddy Ben. If I get enough reviews I might make it a two-shot.


	2. Never Stop Laughing

**Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji and all its wonderful characters are owned by Yana Toboso. I own nothing.**

* * *

Undertaker hung back and followed Will and Grelle from a distance.

Although Will knew he was there, he didn't think Grelle had seen him yet and he wasn't quite sure how to approach the crimson shinigami. In fact, Undertaker wasn't even sure if Grelle knew who he was. Although the vermillion man had seen him in the death god library often enough, (always taking out memory plays whilst constantly forgetting to return older ones) Grell's attitude suggested that he thought Undertaker was just another normal shinigami under the control of Will and the management department like several others, not the death god of legend. Not the very man who sentenced Marie Antoinette to hell and escorted the soul of Robin Hood to the gates of Heaven.

Grelle also probably suspected that Undertaker was just as much victim to Will's so-called "abuse," AKA not being interested in less-than-business-like relations with his subordinates, as Grelle was. Although Grelle constantly flirted with, and was subsequently rejected by Will, it was now painfully obvious that Grelle had only loved Madame Red once he had met her. The flamboyance must just have been part of Grelle's nature since the beginning of time. With Madame Red gone, and along with her, Grelle's livelihood, Undertaker wondered if the bloody artist would ever come on to Will again. He wondered if his reading would ever again be interrupted by "_squee!-s_" that would rival even those of love-struck young ladies and the lectures after Will somehow managed to extract himself from Grell's strong-as-iron glomps.

Although Will was not typically violent, he would make an exception for Grelle and his "inappropriate behavior." However, Undertaker had never been sure if blatantly grabbing someone's ass was better off considered "inappropriate" or just down-right harassment. Will was never too hard on Grelle though; it seemed Will really did consider Grelle a friend and either was too proud to admit it, or Will simply was not sure _how _to admit that Grelle was important to him.

Shinigami were often flawed, incurable scars left behind from all the killing. Human or not, no one can see so much fire and blood and remain unscathed. Will's flaw was an alarming lack of social skills. By pushing people away, it would hurt less to lose them. By becoming detached from the situation, it made humans easier to do away with without guilt or sadness. Grelle was no exception; he would become flawed as well. Grelle was a relatively young death god, and losing Madame Red was probably the first in a long line of those scars.

Undertaker wondered if the burgundy man would ever even smile again. He wondered if Grelle would heal and return to bothering Will or the Earl's black-clad butler. He wondered if that bone-chilling haughty laugh would ever escape Grells lips and echo throughout the London city-life again. A world without a carefree Grelle was hard to imagine.

Undertaker desperately hoped that he would hear that laugh again. If Grelle was found to be damaged beyond use, he would be decommissioned. Although death gods were allowed to retire, shinigami that were taken for decommissioning were never seen again. Angels would swarm the dispatch headquarters and often have to drag the shinigami scheduled for decommissioning away, kicking and screaming. It was horrible to hear, but even worse to see; knowing that the cries of someone you worked with, someone you killed with and killed for, will have to fall deaf on your ears.

The last one to go was a death god of about Grelle's age with white hair and violet eyes. Ash? Was that his name? The poor boy had seen so many horrible humans doing such vile things to other humans. He considered all mortals to be dirty and useless, and although it made taking their lives easier, it was against psychological protocol for grim reapers. Humans were supposed to be treasured. Their will to persevere, their love and loyalty towards one another, their _humanity _was something every supernatural being envied, be it angel, demon, death god, or anything else.

Shinigami did not have souls, so they did not have true humanity, although they did still have personalities and emotions enough to feign a soul. Death gods could love and hold loyalty, and they could be strong-willed just like humans, but they did so only out of training and ingraining. Their emotions weren't shallow or fake, it just that they simply were not born with the ability to hold these feelings. They were taught subconsciously; just like people learn the language they speak. It was something that did not come naturally, but could be learned easily.

Some shinigami suspected that all this was taken way during decommissioning, using the logical basis that since an overload of emotions had broken the grim reaper, those emotions were removed. Like taking out a tumor that presses on the brain, once it's gone, the ailment is cured. Undertaker didn't believe this. He had been around far too long and knew that certain emotions could not be removed, soul or no soul to back them up. Hope, love, loss, fear. Those four things never left. They could not be eradicated after they were introduced to a being.

Other shinigami suspected that the angels came to destroy the body of the shinigami, as angels were higher ranking than death gods in the supernatural hierarchy. They thought the grim reaper was obliterated, their consciousness simply ceasing to exist. Undertaker knew better, though. He knew why the angels were there, although Will had forbidden him to speak of it.

Decommissioning was not a process of destruction at all; it was a _transformation._ The angels would change death gods into other angels, figuring that if that being could be sent to heaven, the negative emotions would go away and the individual would be cured. Ash was an angel now. He must be cured and happy now.

Undertaker hadn't noticed that Grelle had taken the lead, walking a small way a ways from Will. The usually vibrant immortal was listless and sullen, like he was walking without seeing any of what was in front of him. Will had not failed to notice this, however, and was staring back at Undertaker. He had apparently been staring for some time, because it was the feeling of being watched intently that had broken the coffin-man out of his thoughts.

There was concern written on Wills face and, seeing this, Undertaker confirmed his suspicions that Will did, in fact, care. There was also pleading in the expression, which led Undertaker to believe it was the latter of the two options keeping will from comforting Grelle now when he needed it most.

Once, a representative from the Japanese shinigami dispatch organization had come to England for a meeting to report about how many humans had died in the past year. Being a funeral director, it had been easy for Undertaker to stay alert and attentive, even interested, in the percentages of suicides, homicides, accidental deaths, and fatal diseases that had claimed lives in the land where the sun rises.

Grelle, however, seemed to be having a hard time, and was falling asleep in the conference room. Will took him outside and scolded him until Grelle began to complain loudly and fake cry. Undertaker, and the Japanese representative too apparently, noticed Will soften, if only slightly.

Will was too far to hear, but Undertaker heard the representative call him a 'tsundere.' After the meeting, Undertaker asked what it meant and decided that it wasn't so much an insult to Will as it was intended to be. Undertaker found it an accurate label for the over-worked death god manager. It meant someone who, through pride or sheer tactlessness, has a hard time expressing their feelings and will often opt to hide them. It sounded just like Will.

Perhaps Will had not missed this comment, however; as his eyes seemed to be asking the silver haired man to help Grelle, knowing that he himself could not do so. It must have pained Will to know there was nothing he could do to comfort his companion. The despairing gold eyes behind the prim and proper glasses plucked at Undertakers heartstrings.

As the trifecta of troubled men continued onward, Undertaker quickened his pace and walked next to Will. Will said nothing, knowing not only were the words unnecessary but that to try to force them past the lump in his throat was impossible. Undertaker squeezed Will's hand comfortingly, and then sped up yet again until he was walking beside Grelle.

The rose-colored image of grief had not taken notice of his presence, nor had he noticed the disappearance of Will's. Undertaker suspected that Grelle's brain was not working at the moment.

The coffin-man was wrong.

Grelle's brain was, in fact, working overtime, although not working very well. It was like a memory play that someone had set on repeat yet cut parts out of. The loss, the guilt, the self-loathing replayed over and over again in his heart. The sights of blood and bodies and the Phantomhive boy flashed again and again in his mind's eye. It was too much.

Undertaker observed this from under silver bangs, illuminated by the streetlamps more so than the moon. The celestial orb was hidden behind rain clouds that were atypical for England at this time of year. Apparently even the gods shared in the low feelings emanating from Grelle. The coffin-man couldn't bear the thought that this was what had become of the infamous Jack the Ripper. Undertaker put his hand on Grelle's shoulder and the serial killer froze at the touch.

It couldn't be her. Her ghost could not have come back for him. When humans died, they moved on. They went to someplace better than this horrid earth. Grelle couldn't fathom Angelina returning to haunt him. He wasn't afraid of ghosts, he knew they were only beings of energy, and they couldn't hurt him, not that he could die anyways. But he was afraid of his reaction. Grelle knew that if he saw Angelina again, in whatever state she was in now that she had left her body, he would be reduced to a blubbering mess in the middle of the street. The guilt would take him over, make him lose his mind, break his heart that was only being held together by a single thread.

Despite this, Grelle turned his gaze to the right and saw a familiar face. Or rather, half-face. The sight of the silver hair, the oh-so-unfashionable hat, and the long, drab colored cloak caused Grelle to sigh deeply in relief. No way in hell would Angelina, ghost or otherwise, ever wear something so shapeless and ugly. Grelle smirked a little at the fact that the only reason he had avoided a psychotic break was because of his colleague's horrible taste in clothing.

Undertaker saw the smirk and smiled himself. He had the vague feeling that Grelle was smiling because of him, and that made it all the better. Maybe he _could_ help the grief-stricken man, despite their only occasional meetings.

Grelle looked up at Undertaker, being a few inches shorter than the funeral director even without that god-awful hat, saw the smile on the pale, scarred face, and donned his arrogant façade once again.

"I know I'm, like, completely irresistible, but what did you want?" Grelle accentuated the self-absorbed remark with a flip of his hair.

Undertaker couldn't keep the laugh in. The feminine speech pattern, the self-important glint in the eyes, it was all back and right as rain. The coffin-man smiled a genuine smile, happy to see his acquaintance back to his usual self. Grelle was just as cheeky as he ever was.

Grelle didn't enjoy the thought of being laughed at, especially not in his present state. He knew that Undertaker often found odd things amusing. He also knew that Undertaker's laugh was incredibly creepy and made Grelle wish Sebastian was there to protect him, not that he thought Sebastian would actually do so.

But this laugh wasn't the creepy, serpentine laugh that "_kesesese-d"_ its way into human and immortal hearts alike, freezing blood in the veins of those who happened to hear it. This laugh was cheerful and clear, like a bell. It was a real laugh, and, Grelle decided, a definite improvement in the eerie man. Although Grelle was grateful that someone was happy to see him back to his normal self, the scarlet shinigami was going to be damned to a lifetime of desk-duty before he let anybody scoff at his awesomeness.

* * *

As Undertaker ran for his (un?)-life, past alleys and pubs and townhouses, he couldn't help but think that maybe trying to cheer Grelle up was a bad idea. Looking back, he saw his pursuer running after him with a heavy-looking leather purse in hand, promising to be a fearsome and pain-inducing weapon indeed, screaming about how he was not going to allow "an ominous, wraithlike bastard to dare to giggle at pure, undiluted beauty personified."

Behind Grelle, Undertaker could see Will chasing the burgundy shinigami, yelling at him to "stop being senseless, lest you blow our cover," which Undertaker considered thoroughly blown anyways. Even in the dark, cut through poorly by flickering streetlamps, he could see smiles threatening to take over both Will's and Grelle's features, and went with his first hunch that even a Grelle pretending to want to kill someone was better than a Grelle truly wanting to kill himself.

* * *

By the end of the night, the three were grinning despite themselves. Exhausted and out of breath, sprawled out in some field on the outskirts of London that they had run to, Undertaker listened to Will yelling at Grelle about how he had to run all the way out here and had no choice but to follow the "parade of convoluted, noisy madness" that Grelle had been causing. Undertaker could tell that Will was lying; no one had been on the streets and Grelle couldn't be heard in the houses, especially not all the way out here. The mortician smiled, knowing that secretly Will had come out with them by choice. Grelle glanced over, knowing what the smile was about, and wished he could smile about it too, but he was trying his hardest to pretend to be afraid of his boss, for the sake of Will's pride.

Fortunately, Grelle's self-control is about as lacking as Will's people skills, and the giggle slipped through, slowly becoming a booming laugh.

Undertaker was going to see to it that the red shinigami never stopped laughing again.


End file.
